How Much?
by wordspank
Summary: If he begs, maybe she'll let him. Warning: PWP


Notes: Prompt #029: Beg

* * *

Klaus notices her hands a lot of the time.

They sit on her hip when she's trying to show discontent. Or her arms fold, and they're kept close to her, which makes him try to, ever so politely, fix his eyes on hers. He sees how her knuckles are soft and passive when they're cradled against the crook of her elbow, the same way they are right before she gets angry and delicate lines turn into hard, bloodless ridges of a closed fist.

Those knuckles look especially good wrapped in his necktie.

Caroline pulls him forward slowly, the skinny strap of worsted wool wound around her hand. Her face is so close that he finds himself studying the arches of her cupid's bow, admiring its curved definition lining lips stained a fresh-kissed pink. He can choose to lean in and claim it, but the look in her eye seems to demand his restraint.

"Tell me what you want," Klaus says, the length of one arm rested on the sofa. His other hand sits heavy on her knee, thumb at the hem of her dress exploring the curious texture of gold jacquard. "You didn't pull me out of that function just for a bottle of wine."

"I didn't." He knows exactly what she's hungry for, but it's far more satisfying to hear her say the words. He'd been practically dragged from the party back to the mansion, getting criticised for the lacklustre decor along the way. Well, interior design isn't a priority for the Mikaelsons at the moment. "You should take off your jacket."

Simple enough. He likes that her grip doesn't yield as he eases out of each sleeve and lets his blue blazer fall off his two fingers for dramatic effect. "Done."

There's a heat to her gaze, but she doesn't look pleased.

"...You think this is going to be easy," she frowns. Then she tugs downward, so he can feel against the edge of his ear the full force of her defiance in the way she tells him, "You're wrong."

Klaus can't control his smile. When she gets bratty and domineering, his endearment for her blooms tenfold. She just doesn't care about what he calls himself anymore. It's all hot air to her: Original, Hybrid, King. Every time she hears one of his titles, she rolls her eyes or mocks him with a wit as sharp as her fangs. It stings because they're what he is, but it's also when he falls that much harder into the Caroline snare. Which makes him do anything for her – _in the name of Caroline_, Bekah once scoffed to him.

True that he's never turned her down, though. It's impossible to. It's been years and he still finds the allure of her feigned resistance completely arresting.

And it makes his cock hard.

Caroline releases him with a careless push, standing. At first, it alarms him that perhaps he's been a bit too forward in his approach - she's left him high and dry before for being disrespectful. It'll obliterate his mood for the next two days if she decides to force upon him the bitter gift of introspection.

It's only when he sees her kick off her heels and unzip the back of her dress that the relief sweeps back in-

"Stand," she orders. Klaus, not grasping it immediately because he's distracted by the sight of her approaching him in just her black panties, is yanked upward and out of his daze by the tie again.

"Let a man look upon his lady," he chuckles, to which she responds with an unamused glare.

"Are you just going to talk?" He actually intends to kiss her, but she moves in first to grab his collar and _rips,_ sending the buttons of his shirt raining down to the floor.

One, it's a magnificent dress shirt; two, it's one part of a _very_ hard to find three-piece suit; three, is it worth chastising her for at the risk of driving her away?

Caroline laps gently at his mouth and undoes the top button of his pants. No, he thinks, eyelids growing heavy when she kisses him full on the lips, breasts pressed up against him._ Definitely not._

Klaus feels her slip the tie from his neck. "Hands to the back," she says, and he obeys, entertained by her bold antics. The knot that holds his wrists together feels sloppy and haphazard, but that's to his advantage.

This is good. He likes where this is heading. In fact, as she pushes him back onto the sofa with hands crushed between his own weight and his newly ruined shirt, the blood starts to rush straight to his trousers. Caroline kneels, settling comfortably in the centre space of his legs with a mystery on her mind that he can't quite figure out.

She puts her fingers to her lips. "What do you think is gonna happen?"

"As long as you don't leave," he replies, shifting so that some of the pressure is taken off his hands. Nothing else will bother him that much at this point, really.

"I'm not _that_ big of a bitch," the first smile emerges from her, eyes iridescent, "Today, at least." Like a devil donning a halo, he observes. Then her fingers run along the waistband, teasing the skin of his stomach. "Wouldn't want to piss off _the greatest Original there ever lived_."

Both his brows raise at the strength of her sarcasm, in a butchered accent, no less. "I suppose you _would_ have to wait until I was tied up to say that to my face."

"What are you gonna do, bite me?" she laughs. "I'll say whatever I want." Caroline begins to drag his zipper down. "Whenever I want." Each hand holds his pants and briefs on both hips, "To whomever I want," and then slides it all the way down, over his knees, off of his ankles. She helps remove his brogues and socks, setting them aside neatly.

Where her hands rest, he feels unusually warm - they run up his calves, aiming to soothe, but it only makes him suck in air through his teeth because he recalls how talented she is with them. They glide over his thighs and with ten strong fingers, rake down from under his ribcage over rippling muscle without ever breaking skin, and he imagines, _hopes_ that she'll soon take him into her mouth so he can find release in it.

That's thinking too far ahead.

Her palm rubs him gently, smoothing over his sensitive frenulum in tiny circling strokes. Klaus lets out a long, tension-wrought sigh, the end of it making his lungs constrict, because her hands, they've held _his _hands and buried them in his hair and scratched through his beard after she's slapped him _hard_, and now she's sending him into a thirsty frenzy with just that _one_ flex of her hand.

"Good?" she questions, though she already knows the answer through the aching throb of his cock pointed at his navel. Klaus nods, enjoying every bit of varying pressure she applies.

"Good," he mutters, eyes hazing. His legs strain when she lifts her palm to let her soft tongue take over, licking up along the taut line of skin. Over and over, until the pleasure-pain of it plucks the husky groan from his chest._ Very good_, he thinks, tilting his head to watch her, then hums his approval when she glides her tongue that little extra distance more to taste the precome on his skin.

"Come on now, love," he encourages, the best approach for when she's in charge.

"Don't rush me." The tone of it tells him that it may have been better to have kept his trap shut altogether.

"Caroline," he warns, beginning to see her think up his lengthy torture spontaneously. Thick clouds of ideas are storming behind her lashes.

"Don't you want me to do this?" She kisses up the length of him, the faint dabs of her lips a cruel tease. Fuck.

"Or," her hand lifts his member, testing its weight and she gives it another little kiss, "This." Klaus' stiff fingers ball up beneath him when her pink mouth takes in the head of it and hollows her cheeks, drawing upward until he's let off with a soft pop.

His brows knit in frustration as he tries to sit up, but she anchors him down with her elbows. On her face is a sly half-smile, pure deviance fired into him with her wicked gun. He loves it, he loves her, he loves everything about this, and though he minds very much that she's taking her time with him, there's no other place he'd rather be than be bound at the mercy of his queen.

"How much do you want to fuck me?" Caroline asks, as casual as the stroll they took to the house. She hardly swears at him like this, but when she does, he savours every word, like how he savours the way her fingers slide down either side of his cock in a firm V, excruciating as it is.

This woman. The things she does to him. If she doesn't free him soon, he's going to turn into an insatiable beast._ Then she'll regret it._

"What if we just did this all night?" Her hand squeezes his thigh and he aches deep in his balls when she presses her cheek to his hip, looking up at him deviously. "Because I can do this. For hours." Klaus' jaw clenches when her fingers knead back up and dig their blunt points into his abdomen. "And you'll _never_ get to come."

He doesn't know how to answer. All he knows is that if she lets him stop sitting on his hands, he's going to plow her right into the sofa once the feeling returns to his fingers. From the way her body keeps rubbing up against him, he's pretty sure that he's not the only one suffering a prolonged release.

"So," Caroline plants a chaste kiss in the crease of his groin, "how much?"

He shoots her one of his darkest looks. "Very much."

"How. Much." Try harder. His shaft is stroked so agonizingly slow that it makes him bite his lip, suppressed growl rumbling deep in his sternum.

"I'm going to lay you down," Klaus breathes, and she looks on with interest, "part your legs." Her tongue traces up, sweeping dangerously close to the tip of his member. He closes his eyes and throws his head back in hopes that it won't break his train of thought, "Spread your wet little cunt." He swallows another breath of air. "And I'm going to make you scream."

She nips the bone of his hip and he jerks up, the denial of a proper touch putting him on a razor's edge. "You may not remember your name. But I'll whisper it to you when you're trembling around me."

Caroline stops and lifts her head to flash him a coquettish smirk. "Ask me," she says, then dips low to kiss a prominent vein running along the underside of his cock as an incentive.

He flushes hot beneath her.

"Go on," she urges, completely relishing that his stare is starting to turn animal. "Beg."

She knows how he hates the idea of having to confess things. He'll tell her, but it requires some vulnerable pieces of himself laid out in front of her. It doesn't come easily.

Yet he only just needs to set his pride aside this _once_ so they can both have what they want.

Klaus licks his lips, casting a powerless glance at her, hoping it's a bit sad and enough to change her mind. But it doesn't work, it never works. She soaks it up and feeds off it, looking absolutely_ ready_ while she waits for him to speak, hungry like she gets after she's kissed the breath from him and guides his hand between her legs. The craving is so apparent in her eyes that he could very well tear his binds, plunge into her, nerves and muscle and bones all aflame, and find her _almost_ there. But she'd be so mad at him for not letting her see through her seduction to the end.

Sometimes it's just better to succumb. _It's not a big deal, mate._

"Let me fuck you." He pauses, craning his neck because the sound of it is so needy that his dignity is threatened. "Please."

She purses her lips, pondering.

"_Please._" It's now barely a whisper.

"Please," he manages again hoarsely, reining in his ego in exchange for what he hopes is her permission to do what he proposed, "_Please let me fuck you_."

Pushing her blonde hair over one shoulder, Caroline stands and leans over him, studying his tortured expression. "Fuck me then."

Evil little vampire.

Thanks to her slipshod attempt at a knot, the tie loosens fairly easily. Klaus first pulls free from his shirt, then closes both hands twice, thrice to let the numbness dissipate. Much better. Now for the other unresolved matter.

Caroline worries her bottom lip with her teeth, quietly daring him to take her - _oh, no worries there, love. You don't have to tell me twice_. He catches her gold waves in a hard fist, baring the milk white column of her neck, and he licks, up, up until his tongue brushes against that terrible temptress mouth of hers. She's clearly ardent over the fact that he's free because she doesn't fight him at all.

Klaus leads her, brings her down on top of him because he loves looking at her when he curves two fingers into her panties. If her, "oh god," isn't confirmation enough that she wants him _bad_, her wet heat gives her away completely. He wonders if she'd be this turned on if he tied her up instead - useful plans for later.

He pulls off the last garment from her, and without warning, wraps an arm around her waist to sink her body down onto him. It's as much relief as it is a violent shiver that passes through both their bodies when she mewls his name like she'll never have the chance to say it again.

Music to his ears.

She bends forward for a kiss, but Klaus is over being tender, and sweet, and all the things that she gave up when she told him he was wrong. With her knees pinned to the sides of his hips, he finds the perfect opportunity to thrust up into her, and he goes deep, listening to her protest about it in a high pitched whine.

"You wanted to be fucked," he says, and she responds in that conflicted moan-laugh, shaking her head because she knows he's _actually right_. And he likes being right.

"And you're totally no fun," she complains, which makes him go that much harder, steadier, until she closes her eyes and forces a pause in their rhythm by grinding down on him.

He grumbles. "Because I'm not the begging kind."

Caroline agrees. "You're not."

"No." Klaus contemplates. "Maybe you are."

She narrows her eyes. "Me?" He expects her to be prickly about it, but both her hands cup the back of his head instead. "Oh Klaus, please," she experiments with her best impression of a woman in need. She bats her lashes. "Plea-ease."

It shouldn't have that much of an effect on him, but the way she says it, upward inflection, closing hiss, it's like sweet incense luring him to a certain doom. The adrenaline fires through his brain, desiring the sound of her wanting him _that much_. It doesn't help that her hips are beginning to swivel.

Caroline picks up on his newfound addiction, and repeats it, this time letting the words graze against his lips. "Please Klaus," she rocks again, and he groans low and powerful, "Fuck me."

He kisses her to swallow her words, because her baiting is too much for his ears. But cutting her off is worse, he discovers, as her muted moaning goes higher each time she sinks back down onto him, and there it is, the pleading written in her eyes, swirling, just wanting more more more until she careens over the precipice.

The vibrations of her charge through his bloodstream, travelling right to very tips of his fingers. She controls how fast and hard or deep he goes, so all he can do is let her ride him. He leans his head back against the sofa, giving Caroline all the control she requires, appreciating her hungry form,_ yes, you're in charge now but you're still mine-_

"Klaus," she calls, her thighs shaking, this time his name a real prayer. He spots the thin dark capillaries surfacing under her eyes, inordinately beautiful. "Coming," she tries to stifle with her hand. "Keep-" she nods, and Klaus slides them both down to the floor in a new angle that massages him in a hundred more good ways. It lets him kiss her breasts. It lets her arch toward him. It gives him what he needs to spiral down with her.

But there's a kind of pleasure in watching her become a pliable, unintelligible mess. That's when she gets twice as hot and she quakes around him, milking him for all he's worth. He looks into her eyes, seeing everything that makes him love her, and he buries his face into her neck as she whispers that he should do it. _You should come inside of me._

Just like that, he keels. Surrounded by all of her, scent, sweat and comfort, he moans all his pleasure into her and she gingerly tightens her legs around him until he drifts back down to her. _You're not going anywhere without me, mister._

Caroline gives him a kiss, so soft that it makes his heart clench in a satisfaction that he only finds with her. She's smiling because she knows the same thing.

"Now you owe me a shirt," he says, brushing the hair from her cheek.

She lets out a tiny scoff of disbelief. "After all that?" Her eyes are gleaming, happy, her smile contagious, and it fills him up with a fondness that lights up every fibre of his being.

"Well," Klaus adds, "I can think of other ways you can pay your debt." Many other ways.

She purses her lips to hide something diabolical. "Ask me nicely."

* * *

End Note: Happy new year, everyone!


End file.
